Shanghai Expo 2010 Expo China Pavilion (Photo by Marlene Lam)
Acceptance speech by Ping O. upon confirmation of her promotion to Director of the Ministry of Freak Accidents, Shanghai Division. December 8, XXXX. Accessible from the Audio-Visual Records Department, code 18693. Part one of three.
“Comrades, colleagues…what an honor! I never expected such a swift and glorious Ministry response to my actions and experiments. Not that I didn’t expect a reward, of course, but you know me—give me an erotic Qing dynasty romance novel and I’ll be happy, ha! Speaking of which, Jing, I want my collection back. Don’t think I’ve forgotten!
“Okay, let’s be serious for a minute. My joy at becoming Director is tempered by the compassion and appreciation I have for my old department, my old friends. Ming—the sacrifices you made for your job will never be forgotten. I’ve never seen such loyalty to the Ministry from anyone. Xiao, stay strong, and keep me updated on all the gossip. I’ve forgotten the rest of your names, but I’ll be sure to thank each of you in person when the baijiu gets out of my system.
“And Wong, you tight-assed bastard, I’m going to miss your whining! I’m only joking—you’ve been so punctilious about everything, it’s made my job so much easier. Promise me you’ll lighten up, everyone thinks you’ve got a cucumber wedged up your…oh, whoops!… This is a Ministry function, ha!
“I also thank the Ministry for giving me the chance to contribute to the glory of my country. I had no idea my inferences would be so accurate, nor did I expect the experiment to yield results so favorable to the Ministry’s objectives.
“You could say I got lucky; but then again, we don’t believe in random events, now do we?”
* * *
Ming
The Ministry calls while I’m in the shower. Fifty year-old Mr. Z was leaning out a window on the 56th floor of an apartment in Hongqiao when a bird decided to relieve itself on his head. As he craned his neck out and looked up, presumably to launch salvos of insults at the animal, a laundry pole blown off the 58th floor hit him square on the jaw. The force and angle of the blow were enough to knock him off his feet and out the window.
The office is understaffed, so would it be possible for me to come down later tonight and process, even though today is my first day off in five months? And if I do could I please fill up five separate forms, in triplicate, for each portion of the body that was found?
I mull over the request as I watch an episode of Intrigues in the Court of the Lemur. It’s tempting, partly because I haven’t had a high-rise victim (or, to be more precise, an ‘unwitting aerial participant’) in ages, and partly because I’m edgy about my dinner appointment. Tonight, I have a date with the salary man-type I met at the Tipsy Tiger who said I had eyes like shimmering green marbles (or the insides of a cow—Shanghainese is even more indecipherable when mind-numbing techno is playing in the background, and at any rate, the insides of a cow can be pretty good looking if plated up just right). I forget what his name is, although I do remember it sounding vaguely familiar.
It isn’t important. It’d be nice to see someone outside of the office, whose face hasn’t been mutilated by a ceiling fan, or whose fingernails aren’t glued to a colony of fire-ants.